You’re No Use
He sat in the corner of the room,
cigaret in hand. The ashtray had wandered off, it had
gotten tired of catching and not receiving.
And so the ashes fell
to the ground.
He watched the empty wine bottle sitting on the table.
It burped in a great and heaving manner.
“You didn’t drink it all, did you?”
“Your lips are chapped and stained with wine.
Of course I didn’t drink any.”
“Well, it’s rude to burp.”
“It’s rude to litter.
To litter. You know you can’t blame the ashtray for that.”
“You’re no use.”
Just a little poem that I wrote while at the cabin. Keep in mind that I am not a poet. Mack is under the impression that I should continue on with this, push it further. Maybe I should, but honestly I am more interested in writing short stories.
Drawing the wineglass made me realize two things:
1) I need more art supplies (pens — I’ve had bad luck with finding pens that last).
2) I need to clean and organize my art supplies. The problem: that makes me want to buy organizational units or storage of some kind, and I don’t have oodles of money. I will have to make do.
The other day I actually said, “maybe I’ll just have to buy paint instead of food.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Mack replied.